


Capture Me

by sunshine_locks



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Challenge Entry, Community: HPFT, F/M, b/c there's talk of nudes and christianity, enjoy this dumpster fire of story, i don't know how it turned out like this, it's literally a muggle photography and university au all in one, yeah i know what i said
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-04 17:11:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16350779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshine_locks/pseuds/sunshine_locks
Summary: "Helping him out would be the correct choice here, to fix what she had caused and make sure he was okay. A fall like that would have broken his nose. But that would require her to confront this cute boy in the aftermath of what she just said, and she wasn’t really all that ready to confront her problems like that in such quick succession.So run it was."For Lady Ausra's Trope of Aces challenge at HPFT.





	1. i.

**Author's Note:**

> enjoy this dumpster fire of a mess lmao

“You’re kidding,” Victoire said, with more despair than most people would have deemed necessary for the situation at hand. She used one of her hands to brush back a few wayward strands of blonde hair, the other holding a phone to her ear tightly.

“I’m afraid so,” the voice on the other end crackled, a grimace apparent in each word. And yet, his words seemed insincere. Forced.

“Well, what do you expect me to do?” she nearly shrieked. She was at the end of her wits right now. Her chemistry lab was due in  _two days_ ; she couldn’t possibly finish a lab report and the damn experiment in that time frame. Her partner had rescheduled multiple times, citing reasons that were most definitely fake as hell. His reputation had already spoken loudly for him; she should have ran far, _far_ away when he was assigned as her partner.

Originally, she’d planned to get it done with the day it was assigned. But no such luck came her way this time around.

“Finish it? Please?” There was a hopeful tone underlying his words.

Victoire took a deep breath, using the exercises her mum had told her of, hoping they’d work at least a tiny bit. And then she promptly snapped, “No. I’m sorry, but you’re on your own for this. I’ve tried to work this out with you patiently, but it’s not, and it probably won’t, ever. Goodbye.”

“No, wait—”

The line cut off as soon as Victoire hit the ‘end call’ button. She wished she had a flip phone so it could have been more dramatic. That would have been more satisfying.

She was stressed, tired, and worst of all, now she had to draft an email to her Chemistry professor. And act _professional_  in it _._ She was nothing but, and unfortunately, you had to kiss up if you wanted to get anywhere with the professors around here.

Victoire glared at the blank black screen of the phone, as if it were the cause of all of the problems that ailed her now.

Her phone lighted up momentarily, flashing her the notification for a text message. It was Isabella texting her where she was, because she should have been by the campus dance studio, like, an hour ago. They were going to meet up at the café that was a few minutes’ walk away.

“Crap,” she muttered, shoving her phone into her bag unceremoniously, and swinging it over her shoulder. She ran as fast as humanely possible, avoiding running into any people coming in her way as gracefully as she could without tripping herself up.

This wasn’t what she had planned at all for today. Running was the last thing to do on her list today, and she could already feel her body giving up on her and her throat burning for water.

As soon as she reached the studio building, she collapsed on her knees, skidding harshly to the ground. Victoire regretted her decision immediately and winced; the burning sensation foretold her of the scabs that would soon appear on the caps of her knees.

Breathing heavily, she swiveled her head around to assess her surroundings and hopefully find Isabella.

Not catching sight of any dark curls of hair, she groaned to nobody in particular. Who exactly was she to preach Victoire on being late when she wasn’t even here?

Hypocrite.

A moment later, she wondered whether there was there any point in waiting here when it was as hot and humid as it was. The local area had just gone through one of those rain showers where the sun made its appearance almost immediately after.

The humidity wasn’t doing any favors for her hair, certainly.

So, Victoire got up, and jogged towards the entrance, and quickly slipped in. She was indeed lucky that the dance studio was open to any student that attended the university; if not, this day would have truly gone to shit. The campus guards were not to be trifled with.

The faint beat of a song drifted in and out of her ears; was there someone here today? There usually wasn’t; the dance team didn’t have practices on Mondays, purely for the fact that Mondays sucked like hell and you probably had to have the willpower of a god to be able to have the strength to attend dance practice on Mondays. It was just fact.

She slid the door open a little, enough to for her to know that the song was almost as fast as the rhythm of her heart; it had to be said, her heart was beating exceptionally fast—like a drum—in the current moment.

Victoire caught sight of a blue haired boy, dancing his heart out in the empty space of the dance studio, looking like the song he was moving to had completely overtaken him.

And it was… mesmerizing to watch, how practiced yet completely natural he looked, as if he thrived in the moment.

The song slowed down a little bit and suddenly—

 _Oh_. That—that had to be illegal. It should be; no person should look  _that_  good whilst moving their hips  _that_  sensually.

Victoire watched, tilting her head curiously—

_He probably grinds into his boys and girls like that._

What should have happened next was, by all means, that he should’ve kept dancing, without a care in the world. Oblivious to his surroundings, just listening to the beat of the song and his heart.

Not watching him turn his head at a breakneck pace, looking at her like a deer in the headlights, face twisting into a deep frown, and then tripping face first into the floor.

Certainly not.

But this was, reality wasn’t it? And of course, some all-knowing entity out there hated her, and just made her accidentally say  _those specific words out loud._

Upon watching him trip, Victoire was faced with one of two things: help him out, or run.

Helping him out would be the correct choice here, to fix what she had caused and make sure he was okay. A fall like that would have broken his nose. But that would require her to confront this cute boy in the aftermath of what she just said, and she wasn’t really all that ready to confront her problems like that in such quick succession.

So run it was.

 

* * *

 

This restaurant wouldn’t exactly be the first place Victoire would go to, given a choice. It had attempted to go for an American ‘50s diner aesthetic, which it put across pretty well. It was much too small and it was a challenge to fit a group of people at the small tables they provided.

Despite that, however, there were many strange people that came in throughout the course of the day, ranging from those who wanted their mandatory coffee fix, those who were meeting up with their friends for a simple date, those such as her, who merely wanted to observe the faces and statures of people to later then draw, or those who had no idea of what the fuck they were doing.

The latter category usually consisted of university students such as herself, so it wasn’t uncommon to see them lounging around on lazy days such as today, where classes were far and few between and people often (liked to believe) had nothing to do.

It should be no surprise that the boy from the other day would be there, but alas, Victoire was not exactly one for thinking ahead, now was she? She’d assumed that there’d be no one in the dance studio, and well, look at how well that turned out to be.

Victoire would honestly prefer not to think about that for the next few centuries, give or take. It wasn’t unreasonable, considering what happened.

So, really, she shouldn’t be so arrogant, and couldn’t afford to be at any rate, because in almost the span of a millisecond, she working on folding her frame as small as possible, to avoid being seen.

Victoire was truly counting the seconds until he left—she couldn’t be seen, she just  _couldn’t_.

What exactly did he see when he turned to look at her that day? Her face? Her hair? Her hair would definitely be a dead giveaway; it was the brightest shade of bleach-blonde anyone would ever see in their life.

Well, shit. She was well and truly fucked.

The seat in front of her shifted the slightest bit, and yet she didn’t show any sign of noticing his presence.

“So, you were the one at the dance studio the other day, weren’t you?”

And now? Her insides practically flopped around, doing backflips every other second or so, but the only outward indication of this was the slight twitch in one of her fingers.

It was funny, Victoire though, because she could’ve sworn that his voice sounded familiar. A bit too familiar. Does she know him?

“You can look up now,” the mysterious-but-not-so-mysterious person said, a hint of amusement barely coloring his voice.

Slowly, she picked up her head, staunchly avoiding eye contact.

Giving him a weak smile, she said, “Hi…” Damn, he was cuter in person. He really wasn’t anything to gawk at from afar, but closer, there was a lot to admire about him, first and foremost being his endearing gummy smile.

There was only one thing that changed about him though, and that was his hair. Wasn’t it blue when she first saw him? Now, only natural black strands of hair framed his face.

“Er, hello…” Victoire said, flushing a bright shade of red.

“Hello,” he said cheerfully.

Bastard. He was probably reveling in her embarrassment.

“Victoire, right?” he questioned, nodding his head at her.

The person in question furrowed her brows. “This would be the first time we’ve met, wouldn’t it? How do you know me?”

This campus was way too big to just casually know people’s names off the top of their heads, and to her knowledge, she wasn’t in any classes with him.

Oh god, was he a stalker? Does she need to report him? She was pretty sure that the officials here were shoddy at best.

At her pale face, he was quick to explain, “We know each other. I’m Teddy? We saw each other like every Sunday for Weasley family dinners. You don’t remember me?”

Oh.  _Oh._  How did she not remember him? He’d done some pretty…  _memorable_  things in the past years.

It was official now; she was an idiot.

She could attribute her amnesia due to the pure fact that she wasn’t close with him at all growing up, preferring the company of her little sister, or sometimes even Molly, who was the closest to her in age. She never hung out with Teddy, but still. That wasn’t reason enough.

And to make matters worse, what she was essentially being told was that she’d have to look at him in the face every Sunday during the summers and remember that she accidentally catcalled him,  _and_  completely forgot about his existence even after supposedly knowing him for her whole life.

Perfect. Just perfect. 

Well, no better time than the present then, was there?

“I’m sorry,” Victoire blurted out, much to the surprise of Teddy, if the way he looked at her was a sign of anything.

“For?” Teddy tilted his head. And it was weird, she noted belatedly, how he seemed to look kind and unruffled, even when he was teasing her. How did he do that?

Unlike him, she looked like a cupboard gremlin at any given time, despite any attempt to look otherwise.

“Forgetting you? Making an…  _inappropriate_  comment about you?” she squeaked.  _Actually_  squeaked.

Teddy hummed, absentmindedly tapping out a beat on the table with his fingers. It was the same one he’d been dancing to when she first saw him.

He smiled then, and it wasn’t exactly kind, nor was it malicious. It was just strange, giving off weird energy. It made her squirm in her seat.

“I’ll forgive you,” he said slowly, and Victoire waited. There was always a catch wasn’t there? “But… if you want, you could model for me though?”

Oh. That wasn’t bad. He made it seem more than it actually was, and that did not do any good things for her heartbeat.

“God,” Victoire laughed, relieved. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.”

Teddy smiled ruefully. “There’s a catch to that too—you have to be really comfortable with wearing little clothing.”

“What, you need a nude model for your art or something?”

Teddy rewarded her with a smile. “I mean, no, you won’t have to get naked or anything, but I haven’t been able to find a subject for my portfolio, and I don’t really want myself to be the focus,” he explained. “I’m already in like six of them. I’m getting tired of looking at my face.”

How could anyone get tired of his face? It was so nice to look at. Victoire was pretty sure she could spend hours analyzing every tiny detail about it.

“Sounds fun,” she told him. “Will I get any compensation?” Victoire smiled at him angelically, and he rolled his eyes.

“I have Grandma’s food at home.”

“In! I love her food, and unfortunately for me, my stash ran out,” she said despairingly, shaking her head.

“Her cooking really is a wonder, isn’t it?” Teddy recalled wistfully, a dreamy look passing over his face.

A moment later, he said, “Anyways,” snapping out of his stupor, “when are you free?”

“Wednesdays and weekends,” she replied, smiling slightly. “Do you want me to wear certain clothes or…?”

“I’ll let you know.”

Victoire nodded slowly. “I see.” She paused for a moment before asking, “May I know what your portfolio is about?” 

Would that be an intrusive question to ask?

He frowned at her. Well, that answered that. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I don’t feel comfortable telling you that yet. And—um—I’ve got to go, I’ve got class in about half an hour, and it’s like on the other side of the campus.”

She blinked, and idly watched him procure a sticky note, and then scribble something on it.

He slid the sticky note over, saying, “My number. I don’t think you have it… for some reason. I’ll let you know the details, yeah?” Teddy gave her his (fucking  _brilliant_ ) signature gummy smile, went off his own way with a small wave, and Victoire was left to wonder why she didn’t make friends with him earlier.


	2. ii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it starts vaguely feeling like the photography au it's meant to be, but don't get too excited.
> 
> i know it's a weird place to stop, but i don't have any better ideas. also, if you're confused about teddy. it's okay! i'll never explain it to you and you'll never know. (because even i don't know.)

“Heya Vicky,” Isabella chirped, sliding easily into the seat next to her.

Victoire blinked, and looked up from her Information Systems work to her friend. “Hey, Bella. How are you today?”

“Oh me? I’m fine!” Isabella gave her an increasingly fake grin, and Victoire laughed.

It was just typical Isabella, floating through life even when she was as stressed as she was.

“How was your Physics class?” she asked to keep up niceties.

“I’m pretty fucked,” Isabella answered her, leaning back dangerously in her chair. “I’ve no idea about vectors, and apparently those are the easiest thing we’ll learn in that class. And what about chemistry? Did you sort everything out?”

“That’s been done,” Victoire said. She’d only gotten a two day extension, but any little time she was given she would accept without complaint. Completely bullshitted, yes, but the teacher gave her an 89 anyways. She’d take it.

“Right.” Isabella nodded.

“Any reason you’re here today?” she asked idly.

“Yes, of course! You been hanging out with Teddy Lupin lately?”

Surprised, she looked up. Her roommate was strangely observant, and it unnerved her slightly. “Yeah, what about it?”

“Nothing. You just don’t hang out with people often. I don’t know?”

“That’s not true,” Victoire attempted to defend herself, but it was weak argument only because it  _was_  true. She wouldn’t call herself an introvert by any means, but dealing with people’s petty drama was tiring. Sure, she was told that that sort of drama would be left behind in high school, but really the drama like “ _you cheated on me with my best friend_ ” or “ _I accidentally got really high and did some really stupid shit that I regret_ ” or even the ever timeless relationship problems were just turned up to Bose-level decibels of deafening.

Nothing new.

Isabella gave her a reproving look, and shook her head. “You like him or something?” she teased, bumping her shoulder into hers.

Victoire rolled her eyes, and wrote down the rest of the answer for a question she was previously answering. “I mean, sure, I guess. Did I tell you what happened a few weeks ago?”

Isabella shook her head no, and she recounted everything.

By the time Victoire was done telling the story, Isabella had fell out of her chair in laughing hysterically.

She blushed a wild red (she really hated her pale skin; it was too easy to know what kinds of emotion she was experiencing in the current moment), and exclaimed, “It’s not that funny!”

“It kind of—kind of is though,” Isabella wheezed, holding her stomach. Tears were genuinely making her way down her face and Victoire kind of wanted to make it stop.

“Just like how funny it was when you tripped on air and practically deep throated that popsicle you were eating?”

God, that was a wonderful day. Victoire was luckily the only one who had seen it and helped her up, but she did have to try supremely hard to keep from laughing. It was one way to make friends, she supposed. Not to mention, it was a funny first impression of her roommate.

“No— _no, fuck off!_ ” Isabella wiped her eyes on the back of her hand. “But at least now I have something to hold over you.”

“Yeah,” Victoire said, rolling her eyes again. She was really getting in some exercise with them today, wasn’t she? “We saw each other again the other day; he wants me to model for his photography portfolio.”

Isabella brightened. “He’s a photography student. Finally, someone who can capture your true beauty.”

A strangled laugh made her way through her throat unintentionally, like she was choking. Compliments weren’t uncommon for her necessarily, but it always felt like people said nice things just to make people feel good. Which was probably the point, all things considered, but her monkey brain refused to believe that people genuinely meant their words. “Stop that! 

Isabella’s grin faded away. “Real talk though, stay safe. If you wanted, you could let me know where you are and I’ll come get you if you need help?”

Victoire’s heart both swelled in affection and ached. This was unfortunately the reality these days. “Thank you, I think I might be fine, since I’ve known him my entire life—“

Isabella raised her brows quizzically, and Victoire let out a stressed sigh. “Yeah, I’ll take your offer.”

Isabella’s hair bobbed as she nodded her head approvingly. “Thank god.”

“What’s up with you these days?” she asked to move on from the rather unnerving topic, shoving aside her Information Systems work away from her sight.

Isabella went off recall about her Statistics teacher whose voice apparently sounded like if yarn could talk, and Victoire listened happily, content to forget about all of the impending homework she had currently.

 

* * *

 

(3:34 p.m.)  **hello?**

(4:01 p.m.)  _who is this_

(4:01 p.m.)  **victoire?**

(4:01 p.m.)  _oh my bad. what’s up?_

(4:01 p.m.)  **are you free today? b/c I am and I have time to help you with your portfolio**

(4:02 p.m.)  _right, uh_

(4:02 p.m.)  _that’s a thing_

(4:02 p.m.)  _hm_

(4:02 p.m.)  _well_

(4:02 p.m.)  _can you come over around five? I’ll have the studio ready and have cleaned the place up a bit_

(4:03 p.m.)  **sounds good**

(4:03 p.m.)  **where do you live again?**

(4:04 p.m.)  _i live around that café we went to the other day_

(4:04 p.m.)  _the townhomes that are around there? yeah, I live in number 329_

(4:04 p.m.)  _oh!_

(4:04 p.m.)  _and also_

(4:04 p.m.)  _today can you wear a t-shirt and a pair of shorts today, please?_

(4:05 p.m.)  **yeah, okay, cool !!**

(4:05 p.m.)  _also heads up, you will be partially nude today_

(4:05 p.m.)  **that’s chill**

(4:05 p.m.)  **anyways, see ya later today**

(4:06 p.m.)  _see you!_

 

* * *

 

Victoire was really quite unsure of where she was. She was pretty sure that the townhomes Teddy was talking about were around here, but she was so utterly and completely lost.

Unsurely, she peered at the plates that had the numbers of the homes, yet she couldn’t find 329.

Did she skip a home?

She sighed, all the stress accumulating in her body with no way to let it out. It wasn’t the best feeling in the world, standing around doing nothing. She looked like an idiot.

“Victoire!”

She whipped her head around, looking for the owner of the voice, and found Teddy waving a hand at her from a townhome a small distance away.

Jogging her way to him, she said, “Sorry! I couldn’t find your home.”

Teddy snorted, though not unkindly. “I waved and called for you, like, three times.”

She blushed and dug her hands deeper into the jacket of her sweater. The weather was strange mix of too hot to wear long pants but too chilly to go without a jacket of some sort. For her anyways; her legs were strangely immune to the cold, but the rest of her body was not. “Sorry. I have selective hearing.”

He smiled at her, and prodded her cheek once. “Clearly. Come on, let’s go in.”

He led her inside his tiny home with no amount of flair, and really, it was warranted. Everything was neat and in its place; surely everything couldn’t have been cleaned up in the matter of only an hour?

Or he had low standards for what he considered a mess.

Everything was bland and stationary, and nothing was really  _him_ , in a way, and it wasn’t exactly what anyone would expect of an artist.

Seeing her expression of placid observance, he said, gesturing vaguely to his home, “I know it’s not much, but I don’t really like making messes… Helps keep everything in track.”

Victoire nodded slowly, her eyes flitting around from object to object. How strange; there didn’t seem to be any pictures of his family.

“Come on, the studio’s upstairs,” he informed her, walking up the stairs. She followed, her lack of stamina once again making an appearance. These stairs were just really steep, alright?

Leading her into the studio, Teddy went off to find his camera, and Victoire stood idly, noting that the room lovingly dubbed a studio was really just a large expanse with a white backdrop and windows that allowed copious amounts of natural light to filter in lazily.

“Okay,” he said finally, and Victoire jumped. She looked at him, and he gave an apologetic smile. “Can you go stand in front of the backdrop, with your side facing me?”

She followed his directions, feeling awkward. She was more of a natural model than anything, throwing poses out there to try out, and the photographer snapping pictures and using whatever were mildly okay.

He maneuvered her around a little bit, telling her softly (thankfully with no amount of judgement) where to put her limbs, and occasionally mimicked the position he wanted.

Once, she had commented, “How cute,” and he replied with, “Shut up,” a light blush dusting the tops of his cheeks.

He really was too adorable.

“I’ve got you where I want,” he said, taking his camera in his hands. Her lips twitched at the implication, though that was definitely  _not_  what he meant. “Stay still for a few seconds.” Quickly, he snapped a few shots, and looked through the pictures.

“Is that it?” she asked, brows raised. She’d only been here for half an hour.

“No,” he answered, apparently satisfied with the pictures he had. “We’ve got a few more to do. But…” Teddy tilted his head, narrowing his eyes slightly off into the distance.

“But?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“So you know how I said you probably needed to be half nude…?”

“Ah.” Victoire nodded solemnly. “Okay.”

She made a move to take off her shirt, and she’d almost gotten it over her head when Teddy yelped.

Victoire jumped, looking at him confusedly.

“That’s for later,” he said, smiling up at her, averting his gaze.

Victoire had to bite back a grin. “But I have to take my shirt off anyways right? So why not now?”

“Because you need the shirt for this picture?” he replied, uncertainly.

She shook her head. “I’m getting the feeling you have no idea what you’re doing.”

“You’d be right.” He gestured for her to follow him with his one free hand, the other holding his camera. “I’ve cycled through so many concepts for this portfolio, but this might be only one I feel inspired for. At this point, I’ll grasp onto spider threads.”

“What were some of your other ideas?” she asked, falling into step with him.

“Oh, something like how mankind views nature and vice versa, climate change, childhood myths, personal struggles,” he answered absentmindedly as he made his way to a small closet. He handed her his camera, and opened the closet to find tubes of different shades of blue paint and variously sized brushes.

“Those sound interesting.”

“Hm. They are, but I’m not really feeling them right now. I know I want to do them, but, like, later.”

Seeing him walk back towards her, she quickly made her way to the small living room, setting his really expensive looking camera down gently on the small coffee table. “So, what are the acrylics for?”

“Well,” he said, setting the paints down, “the idea is that there’re supposed to be an array of blues on your hips, shaped like an open wound. The picture is supposed to be you in the middle of taking off her shirt, to like, reveal these scars I guess?”

She nodded slowly. “Okay.”

“So if you’ll sit down…”

She perched herself on the edge of the sofa, and held her shirt up for convenience. Teddy sat on the floor with his paints surrounding him for a better vantage point.

For a moment, he didn’t do anything, twirling the paint brush in his hands, brows furrowed, and his teeth digging into the plump cushion of his lips.

From this view, Victoire didn’t really mind it when the slow brushes of paint instilled a chilliness around her hip area, because Teddy was—in all sense of the word—transparent when he painted and any thought, even the tiniest one, flitted across his face.

It was amusing to watch how his nose crinkled, or how his eyes narrowed the slightest bit. It was even funnier that he wasn’t at all noticing her watching, because she wasn’t exactly making it a secret.

She let out a small laugh, and he looked up in question.

“You almost done yet?”

“Oh – um, almost,” he said, switching over to a different shade of blue. One more paint stroke later, he sighed contentedly, and Victoire yelped at the sudden swish of air that ghosted across her hips.

“Sorry!” Teddy said, placing a hand on her back to keep her from falling to the floor. She shivered.

As innocent as all of this was (Victoire was just supposed to be a model, for God’s sake), there was indeed a lot of blushing going on. Though on whose part, Victoire wasn’t sure.

How curious.

He took a few pictures, instructing her in that soft voice of his again, effectively making her insides feel like jelly.

A few moments later, he flopped onto the couch, relieved.

“Can I see?”

Teddy silently passed the camera over to her.

She moved through them, every picture the slightest bit different, whether it was the angle or the lighting.

Most of them were really simple, yet he somehow added his own character to it, weirdly enough, as if no one else could recreate it even with the same set of circumstances.

Which was why she felt the slightest bit bad for thinking this, in that they were slightly… boring. To her at least.

Do you tell an artist that?

Teddy laughed a little, though it was quiet and airy.

She glanced at him.

He put a hand up to her forehead, brushed his fingers between her brows. She leaned in subconsciously to the touch. Exactly how long had it been since someone hugged her?

“You know you get a pucker here when you don’t like something?” he asked, rubbing his thumb gently.

Victoire looked blankly at him, which only prompted more laughter from him.

“It’s alright, you know, to tell that you don’t like something,” he reassured. “I promise to only be slightly offended, as this is only my livelihood and every one of my photos are a culmination of all my personal feelings—”

She shoved him, a grin forming.

“No, but seriously,” he said, the traces of amusement in his voice betraying any and all attempts to be serious, “its fine. Criticism comes with the line of work. I’m used to it.”

Her grin flickered at that. Used to it? That was hardly anything to be proud of.

She could only hope that it was constructive criticism.

“And besides,” he continued breezily, “this isn’t even the end product. I have to edit them to get the surreal theme I’m going for.”

“You specialize in digital manipulation photography?”

“Not… necessarily. But I have an interest in it. I take candids as well, but those take a little bit of time to master, and I’m a bit new to it all.” 

Victoire nodded in understanding.

“Do you want to be a professional photographer? Or a dancer…?”

Teddy laughed. “Well, no, not the dancer. It’s mostly just a hobby—but, yeah, I want to be a photographer. What about you? What are you in college for?”

Victoire averted her gaze from his imploring eyes, and busied herself with shuffling through the photos he hand taken. She mumbled something incoherent.

“Sorry?”

“A librarian…”

Teddy seemed surprised, as most people were when Victoire admitted this to most people. At the look, her hackles rose, and she said shrilly, “What? It’s a perfectly good job! I mean I know what people say that you can be whatever you want to be, but obviously that’s bullshit if people judge you for wanting to do the jobs that most people don’t want to do. I know so many people who’d be perfectly happy being a secretary or being a post-person. And like come on, I’m sure people have bagged on your decision to become a photographer because they only think you’ll make pennies a day but the matter of the fact is that photographers are needed in life but almost everyone is too scared to become one. How else would we know the history we know now? Not to mention…” Victoire glanced at Teddy and promptly closed her mouth. His surprised look had transformed into something resembling part fondness and part amusement.

He opened and closed his mouth, seemingly at a loss for what to say. 

Finally, he settled on, “I think that’s the most words you’ve spoken to me, ever.”

Victoire blinked.

Teddy shook his head. “And don’t worry, I totally understand being judged for your occupation, and yeah, it has happened to me many times.”

“By who?” she asked, and her curiosity would be the death of her; these aren’t questions you should be asking of anybody right yet.

His mood faltered, and he said, “By people who shouldn’t be judging me in the first place.”

Victoire was taken aback by the swift change in tone, almost that it gave her whiplash. “You mean like your family….” She trailed off, realizing that wasn’t probably the best thing to say. She might not have remembered him well, but almost everyone knew that he didn’t have parents, yet he didn’t seem to be close with the Weasleys at all.

Who was his family?

Teddy rushed to end the conversation. “Yes, like my family. I have food in the fridge, do you want some? I did promise you Gran’s food.”

Victoire brightened, going along with the change in subject. “Yes! Thank you.”


End file.
